BURNED
by sandyv00
Summary: GABRIELLA MONTEZ RAISED IN A RELIGIOUS YET ABUSIVE FAMILY. AM NOT GOOD ON SUMMARY BUT ITS GOOD BOOK MAID BY ELLEN HOPKINS I DO NOT OWN NOTHING NADA ZIP.
1. Chapter 1

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING NOT THE CHARACTERS AND NOT THE PLOT

BOOK: BURNED FROM: ELLEN HOPKINS

ENJOY MY FIRST STORY THIS ONE SHORT BUT THE NEXT ONES ARE LONGER

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**DID YOU EVER**

_WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE,_

_ENDURE YOUR PARENTS _

_WARNINGS, _

_THEN WAIT FOR THEM TO _

_LEAVE THE ROOM PRY LOOSE_

_PROTECTIVE COVERS AND _

_CONSIDER INSERTING SOME_

_METAL OBJECT INTO _

_AN ELECTRIC OUTLET ?_

_DID YOU WONDER IF FOR _

_ONCE YOU MIGHT LIGHT UP THE ROOM ?_

_WHEN YOU WERE BIG _

_ENOUGH TO CROSS THE _

_STREET ON YOUR OWN, _

_DID YOU EVER WAIT FOR A SIGNAL, _

_HEAR THE FRENZIED APPROACH OF_

_A FIRE TRUCK AND FEEL LIKE _

_STEPPING OUT IN FRONT OF IT?_

_DID YOU WONDER JUST _

_HOW FAR THAT ROCKET RIDE MIGHT TAKE YOU?_

_WHEN YOU WERE ALMOST GROWN,_

_DID YOU EVER SIT IN A BUBBLE BATH,_

_PERSPIRATION POOLING,_

_NOTICE A BLOW-DRYER PLUGGED_

_IN WITHIN EACH REACH, AND THINK _

_ABOUT DROPPING IT INTO THE WATER?_

_DID YOU WONDER IF THE EXPECTED RUSH_

_MIGHT SOMEHOW FAIL YOU?_

_AND NOW DO YOU EVER DANGLE_

_YOUR TOES OVER THE PRECIPICE,_

_DARE THE CLIFF TO CRUMBLE,_

_DEFY THE FROZEN DEITY TO SUFFER_

_THE SUN, THAW FEATHER AND BONE,_

_TAKE WING TO FLY YOU HOME?_

_I , GABRIELLA MONTEZ, DO_


	2. Chapter 2

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING NOT THE CHARACTERS AND NOT THE PLOT

BOOK: BURNED FROM: ELLEN HOPKINS

ENJOY MY SECOND STORY THIS ONE SHORT BUT THE NEXT ONES ARE LONGER

SORRY FOR THE HOLD UP AL TRY TO UPLODE 2 OF THEM TOMORROW AND THANK YOU FOR READING.

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**I**M NOT EXACTLY SURE

WHEN I BEGAN TO FEEL THAT WAY.

MAYBE A LITTLE PIECE OF ME

ALWAYS HAS. ITS HARD TO REMEMBER.

BUT I DO KNOW THINGS REALLY

BEGAN TO SPIN OUT OF CONTROL

AFTER MY FIRST SEX DREAM.

AS SEX DREAMS GO, THERE WASNT

MUCH SEX, JUST A COLLAGE

OF VERY HOT KISSES, AND JUSTIN PROUDS

HANDS, EXPLORING EVERY INCH

OF MY BODY, AT MY FERVENT

INVITATION. AS A STAWART MORMON

HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR, DRILLED

CEASELESSLY ABOUT THE DIRE

CATASTROPHE AWITING THOSE

WHO HARBORED IMPURE THOUGHTS,

I HAD NEVER KISSED A BOY,

HAD NEVER EVEN CONSIDERED

THAT I MIGHT ENJOY SUCH

AN UNCLEAN THING, UNTIL

LITERATURE OPENED MY EYES.

**S**EE, THE LIBRARY

WAS MY SANCTUARY

THROUGH MIDDLE

SCHOOL, LIBRARIANS

WERE LIKE GUARDIAN

ANGELES. SPINTERISH

GUARDIAN ANGELS, WITHGRAYING HAIR AND BEARDY EYES, MAGNIFIED THROUGH

READING GLASSES,

AND ALWAYS READY

TO RECOMMEND NEW

LITERARY WINDOWS

TO GAZE THROUGH.

A. A. MILNR. BEATRIX

POTTER. LEWIS

CARROL. KENNETH

GRAHAME. E. B.

WHITE. BEVERLY ,

CLEARY. EVES BUNTING. - THEN I STARTED HIGH

SCHOOL, WHERE THE

NOT-SO-BOOKISH

LIBRARIAN WAS HALF

ANGEL, HALF SHE-DEVIL

SO SAYETH THE RUMOR

MILL. I HARDLY CRAD

MS. ROSE WAS ALL

I COULD HOPE I MIGHT

ONE DAY BE: ASPEN

PHISIQUE, NEW PENNY

HAIR, AURRORA GREEN

EYES, AND HANDS THAT

COULD SPEAK. SHE

WALKED ON AIR. MS.

ROSE SHUTTERED OLD

WINDOWS, OPENED

PORTALS UNDREAMED OF

AND JUST BEYOND,

WHAT FANTASTIC WORLDS!!

**I **MET HER MY FRESHMAN YEAR,

ALL WIDE-EYED AND DIM ABOUT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL,

A BIG NEW SCHOOL, WITH POLISHED HALLWAYS

AND HULKING LOCKERS AND DOORS THAT LED

WHO-KNEW-WHERE?

A SCARY NEW SCHOOL, FILLED WITH TOWERING

TEACHERS AND SNICKERING STUDENTS,

IMPOSSIBLE SCHEDULES, TOUGH EXPECTATIONS,

AND ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES.

THE LIBRARY, WITH ITS PAPER PERFUME,

WHISPERED QUERIES, AND COPY

MACHINE SHUFFLES, WAS THE ONLY FAMILIAR

PLACE ON THE ENTIRE CAMPUS.

AND THERE WAS MS. ROSE.

_HOW CAN I HELP YOU?_

FRESH OFF A FLING WITH C. S.

LEWIS AND MEDELEINE L'ENGLE,

HUNGRY FOR TRAVEL FAR FROM HOME,

I WHISPERED, "_FANTASY, PLEASE."_

SHE SMILED._ FALLOW ME._

_I KNOW JUST WHERE TO TAKE YOU._

I SHADOWED HER TO TOLKIEN'S

MIDDLE-EARTH AND ROWLINGS

SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY,

PLACES NO UPSTANDING MORMON SHOULD GO.

_WHEN YOU FINISH THOSE, _

_I'D BE HAPPY TO SHOW YOU MORE._


	3. Chapter 3

Fantasy segued into darker dimensions. And authors who used three whole names: Vivian Vande Velde, Annette Curtis Kluse, Mary Downing Hahn. By my sophomore year, I was deep into adult horror- King, Koontz, Rice.

"_You must try classic horror,"_Insisted Ms. Rose

Poe, Wells, Stoker. Stevenson. Shelly.

"_Theres more to life than monsters. You'll love this authors."_

Burroughs. Dickens. Kipling. London. Bradbury. Chauser. Henry David Thoreau.

"_And these": _

Jane Austin. Arthur Miller. Charlotte Bronte. F. Scott Fitzgerald. J. D. Salinger. By my junior year, I devoured increasingly adult fare. Most, I hid under my dresser:

D.H. Lawrence. Truman Capote. Ken Kesey. Jean Auel. Mary Higgins Clark. Danielle Steel.

I began to view the world at large through borrowed eyes, eyes more like those I wanted to own. HOPEFUL. I began to see that it was more than okay-it was, in some circles, expected-to question my little piece of the planet. EMPOWERED. I began to understand that I could stretch if I wanted to, explore if I dared, escape if I just put one foot in front of the other. ENLIGHTENED. I began to realize that escape might offer the only real hope of freedom from my suppose God-given-roles-wife and mother of as many babies as my body could bear. EMBOLDENED.

I also began to journal okay, one of the things expected of Latter day saints is keeping a journal. But I' d always considered it just another "supposed to", one not to worry much about. Besides, what would I write in a book everyone was allowed to read? Some splendid nonfiction chronicle about sharing a three-bedroom house with six younger sisters, most of whom I'd been required to diaper? Some supposed-your-disbelief fiction about how pictures- perfect life was at home, forget the whole dysfunctional truth about Dad's alcohol-fueled tirades? Some brilliant manifesto about how God whispered sweet insight into my ear, higher truths that I would hold on to forever, once I'd shared them through testimony? Or maybe they wanted trashy confessions- Day Dream by Satan. Whatever. I'd never written but a few words in my mandated diary. Maybe it was the rebel in me. Or maybe it was just the lazy in me. But faithfully penning a journal was the furthest thing from my mind.

Ms. Rose had other ideas one day I brought a stack of books, most of them banned in decent LDS households, to the checkout counter.

Ms. Rose looked up and smiled._ "You are quite the reader, Gabriella. You'll be a writer one day, all venture."_

I shook my head. "Not me. Who'd want to read anything I have to say?"

She smiled. "How about you? Why dont you start with a journal?"

So I gave her the whole lowdown about why journaling was not my thing.

"A very good reason to keep a journal just for you. One you dont have to write in.

A day or two later, she gave me one- plump, thin-lined, with a plain denim cover.

"Decorate it with your words" she said "and dont be afraid of what goes inside."

I wasn't sure what she meant until I opened the stiff-paged volume and started to write. At first, rather ordinary fare garnished the lines.

_Feb.6 .Good day at school. Got an A on my history paper._

_Feb.9 .Roberta has strep throat. Great! Now we'll all get it._

But the year progressed, I began to feel I was living in a strangers body.

_Mar.15 .Justin Proud smiled at me today. I cant believe it! And I cant believe how it made me feel. Kind of tingly all over, like I had an itch I didn't want to scratch. An itch you-know-where._

_Mar.17. I dreamed about Justin last night dreamed he kissed me, and I kissed him back, and I let him touch me all over my body. And I woke up all hot and blushing. Blushing! Like I'd done something wrong. Can a dream be wrong? Aren't dreams God's way of telling you things?_

Justin Proud was one of the "hot bods" on campus. No surprise all the girls hotly pursued that bod. The only surprise was my subconscious interest. I mean, he was anything but a good Mormon boy. And I, allegedly being a good Mormon girl, was supposed to keep my feminine thoughts pure. Easy enough, while struggling with stacks of books, piles of papers , and mounds of adolescent angst. Easy enough, while chasing after a herd of siblings, each the product of lustful if legally married, behavior. Easy enough, while watching other girls pant after him. But just how do you maintain pure thoughts when you dream?


End file.
